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To get a submission printed in this issue, 
four of the six people at the right had to vote 
for acceptance. For the award winners, only 
John Stobart is responsible. 

Linda Baker 
Judy Belfield 
John Bertoletti 
Doug Billet 
Shelbia- Chandler 
John Stobart 

TAue op ctm&m 

John Bertoletti 
Sue S-curgeon 
Marguerite Flanigan 
Jdfhn Q. Public 
^?at Roemer 
Jean Tyrell 
Linda Schweitzer 
Judy Belfield 
Linda Schweitzer 
Shelbia Chandler 
Judy Belfield 
John Bertoletti 
Lynne M. Gloeckner 
Shelbia Chandler 
Tom Madai 
John Q. Public 
Judy Belfield 
Charlotte Pennington 
John Bertoletti 
Lynne M. Gloeckner 
John Q. Public 
Marguerite Flanigan 
John Bertoletti 
Jean Tyrell 
Judy Belfield 
Tom Madai 
Jody Wisman 
Anita Rutkowski 
John Bertoletti 
Judy Belfield 
Judy Belfield 
Anita Rutkowski 
JoAnne Kaseno 
Judy Belfield 
Tom Madai 
Peggy Martino 
Marguerite Flanigan 
Lynne M. Gloeckner 
Sue Sturgeon 
Shelbia Chandler 
Anita Rutkowski 
John Q. Public 
Charlotte Pennington 
Tom Madai 
Judy Belfield 
John Q. Public 
John Bertoletti 
Robert Costello 
Peggy Martino 
Jody Wisman 
John Bertoletti 
Shelbia Chandler 
John Bertoletti 
JoAnne Kaseno 
Jody WismaL. 
Sue Sturgeon 
JoAnne' Kaseno 
Marguerite Flanigan 
John Bertoletti 


JuCo Girls ; 

To Sting 

A Ridiculous Circus 
I'm No DancertT^Kt 
The Caused f Ilizolot 
Laundromat Blues 
Society's Hangup 
Cas€ #1018 
Mind Battles. 

Should f ve Learned 
FPsycho-Analysis. . . . 

Waste World . . ..... 

A Ray of Hope ......... k 

Excuses Vs . Fact .......... 5 

r - ac xng ............a............... v. <•«.. o 

Eight Xs Not Enough. ...*,....,... 6 

I Am A Test-Tube Baby 6 

The Little Pinko ■ . . . . . ..... 6 

Little Boy Blue ,....* ..... 9 

Brian ' s Song ........ 9 

Music 9 

Not My Bag 9 

Day ' s End 10 

Still The Morning Is Much Too Far . . . . 10 

Dreaming Awake ........................... 10 

Mr . Moon Man 10 

internment ••».<&.■»» ...«*«..........« . . • . iu 

Something Peaceful ,.....< 11 

Necropolis. ;....-. .'.v. ;....... .11 

j. GXj.ri-uH5iX S»*a»!i,»e«a<ifl««*«t»t«iii««v«!««e««* J. ! 

Expunge Obfuscat ion .11 

Away 11 

Trips ............. 12 

Continuance 12 

Convergence '....,.,„... 12 

Magnetics .'.' ........... . . .12 

God ' s Favorite Colors ". ' . . , ". ..... 12 

Panning For Gold 13 

Eating Red Beans And Rice On Monday , ....13 

Your Teenage Daughter ...... 13 

Theti Chi (Date A Guy): Fraternity Men 13 

The Party. *■.■..•.■.......,,..... lU 

Outrage .lb 

The Hunter /Priestess Relationship. .,..,. ...... 1^4 

What This Aint « 15 

Think Of Me. '. , . ... .15 

Writing Bummed 15 

Titus The Titanic 15 

Life In A Glass 17 

Life Can Be Likened to a Garment .17 

Great Gift .17 

Baby Look Into My Eyes ......... 18 

Do You Remember When We Were Together , . . . 18 ' 

There's This Dude 16 

Resxlesg r -,Lover , . . . 18 

nseparabill^Qompanion 18 j 

alk With Me.7>. . . .19 

Marriage ....... .\ ♦ . . . . , 19 

Hello Happiness, 

I Like To Think of \ Myself. 

John Bertoletti 


High heels and tight jeans, hair and collars up. 

Chests out, tummies in, always shake the "butt. 

Bright earrings, shiny belts, coordinated suits. 

Gold chains, heavy makeup, knee-high go-go boots. 

Walk the halls, strut your stuff, never saying hi. 

I'd really like to talk but you just keep on walking by. 


Marguerite Flanigan 

Sue Sturgeon 


To Sting: 

You can arrest me 




Jumping up and down with glee 

The elephant lost his cool 

An ice cream cone stuck on his knee 

Then flipped up to the top of his stool. 

The circus band played Christmas carols 
The ringmaster stood on his head 
No jlown was silly or smiling at all 
And popcorn was green and red. 

"What a trick!" said the trainer 
"You're one in a million" 
When the nonkey 
Stood on his nose. 

"It's nothing," he said 

As he slipped off his clothes 

And brushed his teeth 

With the tip of his toes. 


John Q. Public 


Strobe lights glisten 
On my empty beer bottles 
Dande floor is hot 
But my willpower is not 
I need something to respond inside 
A reason to act 
Because it sure would hurt me 
To watche that robot with the hair 
v Dance right over my pride 
My baby, the one I just met 
ts scoping and measuring the floor 
Wondering if thers is room for her 
In the swarm 

Whatever I say will have to wait 
Her thoughts are of motion 
And if I think about it too much 
My beer will be warm 
Maybe I just don't belong out here 
Because I'm no dancer 
I'm more of a backstreet prancer 
And I'll take ray chances 
As the music changes 
And the crowd rearranges 
I'll hit that floor 
After I down a few more 
AT thought it may be head first 

The smiling faces are just a blur 

I thin my wallet to find the cure 

Atmosphere is one of confusion 

I think of where I'd rather be 

Stranger on the floor 

She's picturing me next to her 

Danger in the form of another pitcher 

I'm weaving for the back door 

Even thought my cowboy boots are clean 

I just can't seem to dig this scene 

There's my ex-girl, the one I met 

Before someone put a token 

In the smoke machine 

She's not alone 

The music is fast but they are dancing slow 

A dance floor dyke with perfect hair 

Could I approach her 

Or would I be looking for trouble? 

Someone calls my name, awake in a sweat 

It ' s so hard for me to remember 

When all I can do is forget 

And it's not the last time I've lost my way 

A dancer I may not be but I'm looking for 

And you can find me there every Daturday 



Pat Roener 


"exceptional citizens, exceptional cause. 
Together we will find a way to right the 
night ,>undo the done, save those who 
need i^ and* those who don't. Recruit * 
those who don't k n ow they don't know 
and purge the world of those that know 
they don't know. There is apple pie in 
an octagon cosmos and we will find it. 
The way out. Tunnelvision in cinemascope' 
We'll "be the stars of the show," 

expounds the spittle-mouthed pulpiteer. 

"Hoorah, hoopla, ra-ra-ra," 

whoops the eager mob. 

A trenchnouth soothsayer bangs up the hand. 

Spaghetti-confetti flitter and fly 

vill all the pop-gu-i trimmings. 

Everyone dances the rhumba. 

Lelirium prevails. 

Ee waits. 

Simmering, thickening the preposterous plot, 

abscessed ends, veiled by a shroud 
~ of good intention. 

Ke stirs and strews 

and waits, 

to spoon-feed those who eat spinach, liver 

and unleavened bread. 

Illusion, delusion, chameleon ideals 
\ fetched from farther fetched than fantasy. 

They will swallow-gulp it whole. 

He knows andf licks his chops. 

This self. JL ■ .4 - . ,. # 

Slips behincrthe mask of inspiration 

straddles a sleeP -strong virtue-fed stallion 

and thunders through their braincoils. 

,Ear to ear shouting, "God save us all." 

Sitting slack astride the steed 

He coolly views the clientele. 

An orgasmic-frenzied-organism, 

He knows-- 
., The time is right for gumbo and bitters. 

"He coyly slides off virtue. 

The believers stare in awed silence. 

His self-styled gold-leafed face 

fixed firmly with a plasticine smile. 

matter of factly commands 


to the matters of fact. 

that will become 

matter of fact. 

x ******** 


Jean Tyrell 


The Alaskan winter creeps into damp 

clot he Sv 
that can't repel the smell of smoke 
from the cigarette-smoker, who 
leans on his machiiae. 

The tinny clatter of metal snaps 
on the side of the dryer, keeps 
disjointed time to the country music, 
hardly audible 
except in base keys. 

Over the machines, 

which solidly sit, churning inside, 

loads of weighty dampness. 

A far-way friend, comes to mind. 
Unwritten thoughts, edged with loneli- 
ness, are inaudibly mumbled, next to 
spinning washers, and tumbling dryers 
that can't churn away the blues. 
Rereminded of life's condition 5 and 
pitying the friend, 
the blues m . m 

any worse — 
than me. 


who can't have 

Linda Schweitzer 


Hush your voice and turn up 

the radio. 

Close the windows and pull the 

shades, we must'nt let the 

neighbors hear. 

They're all listening, you know 3 

hoping to get an earful of dirty 

laundry to hang on the line 

along with their own. 


*t* r ' 



Judy Belfield 

Linda Schweitzer 

CASE #1018 

A synapse lapse 
v or c hemic a- impropriety — 
something firing wrong 
we cannot say for certain. 
Could he hormones 

jangled or lacking or oversupplied, 
In any event 

the behavior is off-center, 
a little awry — 
N astray, shall we say. 
A pity for sure 
in one so young. 
Not a tregedy though — 
these things can be fixed . . . 
unless they get worse. 


The little neighbor boys are playing 
amy again. I can hear their imaginary 
bombs exploding and their vocalized 
machine guns killing each other. They 
each fall to the ground, barelv escaping 
the enemies' bullets. 

Aren't we all fighting a war? Our 
cold stares pierce like daggers, our dead 
silences deafen like the explosion cf 
bombs. We shine our shoes often, 
keeping up a false front for all the 
world to inspect. 

Won't someone call a cease to the 
firing so that we may stop 
killing each other with our minis? 



Shelbia Chandler 

Judy Belfield 



I should 've learned my lesson long ago 

I should' ve learned then, but now I know 

l ain't gonna fall in love no more 

I won't be hurt like I was before 

I didn't know then, but I do know now 

And I won't let it happen, no way, no how 

You promised me everything 
You promise it all 
It sounds good, baby 
But I ain't gonna fall. 
You say so mu§^ 
°-nd it sounds so fine 
But how can I be sure 
That you'll really be mine 

I've been hurt so many times before 
So I've made up my mind 
I'll hold on to my heart no matter what. 
No, I won't be hurt this time. 


John Bertoletti 


A beer for me. 
A bong for you. 
We're both messed up. 
We love it, too. 

It * s so much fun 
to be a drunk 
*0 smoke a bud 
or snort a lump. 

So shoot me up, 
cut me a line, 
get me a beer, 
I feel fine. 


All I said was, sometimes I was 
afraid the furnace would explode. And 
that worry kept me awake, while the 
too-few hours allotted for sleep quickly 
evaporated. She didn't wince, or chuckle, 
or anything; she only asked if that was 
all. I told her no ... it wasn't. 
She stared and waited. I squirmed inside, 
not wanting to tell the worst. So I said, 
sometimes I was afraid that someone would 
break in and beat me to a pulp — if I was 
lucky. She didn't react, but asked again 
if that was all. Too hastily, I said no, 
knowing I would have to tell the v *st — 
would have to tell that too-absurd fear, 
the one that kept my back to the wall 
night after night, the one that kept 
waking me every time I heard a floorboard 
creak, the one that was too crazy. She 
stared and waited. I said it was really 
stupid. She waited. So I said, giggling, 
that sometimes I was afraid that someone 
in my family would suddenly crack in the 
middle of the night and decide to hack me 
to pieces with an ax — like Lizzie Borden, 
don't you know . . . giggle. Her control 
was amazing — I wondered if Laurel and 
Hardy could break her. "Anxiety," she 
said. "I have Just the thing," she said, 
reaching into a desk drawer. 

"How do you feel?" she asked later. 
I was coming out a molasses fog, brc m and 
sweet. "Uh . . . ," I managed, sug-.r-eyed , 
cotton-tongued. She handed me a glr >s of 
water. I said, in a grogfog, "That hammer 
did the trick all ri.Tht." 


I'm gonna waste 
my life away. 
I'm n;onnn get 
'i aoed up all d°v. 



Lynne M. Gloeckner 


Those first few mo-ths were really 
tough. My newborn daughter seemed so 
helpless and fragile and already ray 
spastic lings were beginning to show signs 
of fatigue. As I woul I fu r ible with her 
diapers pins, I wondered if she could 
somehow sense my lack of coordination. 
Did she miss the warmth and safety of my 
arms when I had to put her into her bas- 
sinette to taxi her around the house? 

The answer came one early morning as 
she burrowed down into my arms to nurse 
and I saw that secret smile and the know- 
ing touch of her little hand on mine. 

Those little hands kept my fumbling 
hands very busy indeed! Each new day 
brought new challenges to face. And each 
day brcu^ht Kerry, my little daughter, new 
x ^and exciting things to explore. 

Although Kerry's littl^ world was 
bran.i new to her, challenge was not a new 
concept to me. Since birth I had had to 
cope with cerebral palsy. Cerebral palsy 
is a brain injury that can leave its vic- 
tim with a wide variety of disabilities. 

I felt fortunate it had only endowed 
me with a minimal speech defect and 
x -slight coordination problems. Luckily 
it had also given me the guts and spunk to 
pursue a normal life. 

My brain may have been damaged so that 
my walking and speech were labored, but 
my heart and mind were alive and well. 
Like most women, I wanted a home and 
children. I was ready and willing to find 
ways to safely and wisely raise a child. 

On November 26, 1972, my d r eam came 
£rue. I gave natural birth to a 5-pound, 
1^-ounce baby girl. The challenge had 
begun . 

Kerry was a beautiful, bouncing, 
healthy child. Each day that I cared for 
her needs held a new possibility for 
growth and achievement for me. Just 
walking into her room was sunshine on the 
darkest winter morning. She seemed to 
radiate enthusiasm for getting the day 

Little did she know how difficult 
the "tiny buttons and snaps cou^" 1 - be. As 
I ^oald slowly dress her, she would be- 
come impatient and begin to rcll over or 
kick. It was then that I would begin all 
the nursery rhymes that we had practiced 
fer ently. First she would coo and bab- 
ble with me. Later she would pick out her 
favorite sounds and make them along with 
me. Soon we had accomplished not only the 
tiniest of buttons, but she had learned 
more sounds and a sense of rhythm. It 
aiso helped when I purchased diapers 
with snaps. 

As soon as Kerry could crawl, she 
would be placed on the warm rug to make 
her way into the kitchen for breakfast. 

I would go on ahead of her, talkirr- and * 
singin/x to her continously. This way 
she would know that I was still with 
her and very much a part of her Utile 

I tried to Scarry her as lit le as 
possible for fear that I might stumble 
with her in my arms. As she followed ny 
voice, I would carefully prepare her 
breakfast so that she could be reward- 
ed for her efforts. 

Once I had placed Kerry in her high 
chair, we had a big job ahead of us. My 
spasticity caused my arms to jerk at 
times, so that catching the spoon to get 
a bite to eat was a challenge in itself » 
Thank God for infa-feeders. But eight 
years ago, it was the old spoon anc dish 
method for us. Many a day we both wore 
towels around our necks, but Kerr ir never 
left the chair hungry. If my arm culdn't 
find its way to my little girl's nou^h, 
my little girl's mouth became very adept 
at finding her way to the spoon. 

The days were exciting! At times I 
would fall into bed totally exhausted 
from following her around. But the sense 
of satisfaction I received was what kept 
me going. As my^* daughter learne- r to 
crawl and later on to walk, I felt as 
if I were learning to experience thase 
joys all over again. 

Since my own speech was slurred, I 
was overjoyed when I could teach her to 
say words and later phrases with clarity. 
When she walked straight and tall without 
bumping into walls or falling ^"^ on 
her face or bottom, I felt as if I were 
taking those straight and unlabored 
steps right with her. 

And she grew and one day began to 
run, I could feel my heart welling up and 
bursting with excitement. Oh, how I had 
wanted to run as a child! Now a part of 
me was running and hopping, skippi"~ n »ad 

And she grew! She ran °- n "'- she jumped 
and she went off to school. It wae then 
that the true test of love ani under stand- 
ing took place. Her secret smile and the 
knowing touch of her hand were no long- 
er easy to come by. Kerry and I had to 
face up to the fact that as a preschool- 
er Kerry had accepted me on blind faith. 

Kerry had just assumed that all mom- 
mies fumble with the buttons on the back 
of your dress and that all mommies have 
trouble putting braids into your hair. 
She must have closed her eyes to trie phy- 
sical differences between other mothers 
and her ~ vn - 

My heart broke the day she returned 
from first grade to announce that se-eral 
of her classmates had told her mom v..s 
"different". Her eyes had been opened! 



A Ray of Hope, continued 



I knew how cruel children could "be and had 
heard their hurtful remarks as a child. 
I had attended school with nornal child- 
ren and had learned to deal with all 
their probing questions and stares. I 
was well aware of the openness and 
frankness with which children Kerry's 
age speak. It had not occurred to me 
that riy own child, who was nornal, 
would also have this to contend with. 

I wanted to keep my child from this 
hurt, but I knew I could not. I only 
hoped that I had given her the character 
and inner resources to be open and honest 
about ny disability and not taker her 
peers' inquisitiveness personally. 

Those were rough tines. Kerry cried 
her way through first grade. And so did 
I. The first two years of school were 
very difficult for both of us. Luckily 
ny little girld was very bright. The 
inner turmoils which was in her little 
heart did not affect her mental ability 
to do we-1 in school. Many a night we 
would cuddle up together on her bed and 
discuss something that had been said by 
a classmate. 

/ When these remarks first began, my 
daughter rejected the idea that there 
could be any truth to what was being 
said. It was almost as if she had in 
her own mind measured things out and put 
me on an even keel. with everyone else. 
She would turn angry if anyone even sug- 
gested that her mother "walked funny" 
or could not be easily understood. My 
heart ached for her but I could not 
change the facts. At times I even won- 
dered if I had been fair to my child to 
place her in this predicament. 

I found myself feeling rejected as 
I had as a child the day Kerry announced 
that she didn't want me to accompany her 
class on an outing., I ■ knew why. 

The following year saw great change 
in both of us. Kerry seemed to have 

Rrown an invisible coat of armor. Sud- 
denly we always had a houseful of Ker- 
ry's friends. She seemed to bring them 
in droves to meet her mother. She- 
seemed t:> need to make a ooint of say- 
ing things like, "This is my Mom. She 
can't help that she doesn't walk like 
we do." 

Kerry was constantly defending ne 
or perhaps apologizing that things 
weren't quite right. Usua-ly the child- 
ren would ask more questions and I 
found myself the topic of many after- 
school snack sessions ri?n;ht in ny own 
kitchen. As a handicapped mom I found 
all the extra attention rather disturb- 
ing at first. I had never had to talk 
about my disability in such minute de- 
tail. I found that as I talked openly 
and honestly with these children about 
myself I, too, gained an awareness and 
understanding of the whys and wherefores 
of the things I do. I also learned that 
children can appreciate another's hard- 
ships and courage if only they are aware 
of them. 

Now Kerry is almost eight. She no 
longer needs that coat of armor. She is 
no longer my defense lawyer. Kerry has 
put things into perspective. Her 
young years as a child of a handicapped 
parent have made her aware that there 
are wide differences in people. Perhaps 
she is a bit more caring than a c". 'Id of 
her young ate should be. Kerry will find 
good in everyone. 

But I can't help but think that I 
am on the road to success as I heir my 
beautiful daughter bound in after school 
saying, "This is my mom. She's handi- 
capped but doesn't she do a Treat job?" 
and, "Oh yes, that's my little baby 


Shelbia Chandler 



Ordinarily it wouldn't have happened 

But the booze went to ny head 

I lost ny inhibitions 

And I wouM up in your bed 

You looked into ny eyes 

And lit ny body's fire 

Pressed your lips to nine 

And made me weak with desire 


Ordinarily it wouldn't have happened 

But ny head just wasn't ri^ht 

And when you nade your nove on ne 

I had no strength to fight 

My body screaned yes 

Though my lips were saying n^ 

I didn't want to argue 

So I let ny emotions ^ 


Or linnrily it wouldn't have happened 

But the nartinis blew ay nind 

I needed soneone to hold ne 

And you were nil I could find 

You put your ams across rxy shoulders 

And as I gazed into your face 

My topsy-turvy world 

Tunbled into olace 

It would have happened anyway 

Since I've loved you for so 1 >ng 

; \nd any protest I nay have nade 

Wouldn't have been too strong 

So I'll .<rive you no nore excuses 

I'll tell you no nore lies 

My heart be can to nelt 

Whr;-i I looked into y^ur oyer 

H X V X X X X X 

Tom Madai 


John Q. Public 

Unhurriedly, a seed grows within: 
Outside forces move at breakneck speed, 
While intolerable pressures build. 
A ruling ambiguity prevails, accelerating 

to nowhere. £ 
Esotional roughness exceeds the limits; 
Peacefully, emergence begins. 
Altered states conflict, threatening 

mutual burnout — 
Harried, frantic attempts to balance only 

bring tempest; 
Still, calmly, I grow, adapt, and awaken. 
Detachment is my sead coat, bursting, 
Soon to be thrown aside, 
In favor of loving interaction. 
A new perspective of unhurried, yet 

rapid being 
Has entered my awareness. 
Massive, unponderous abilities at last 

Becoming outwardly fulfilled, 
Even as new talents are fostered. 
My resolution from chaos proceeds apace, 
Fuelel by my essence. 


Judy Belfield 



A new mother 
counts toes 
kisses palms 
soft and small . 

I stand in a cave in France 

studying a prehistoric man, 

his fingers outlined on the wall 

five to a hand 

like mine. 

My soul contracts, shudders 

silently gives birth, 

as daylight sings a lullabye 

and mother counts my toes. 




Let me sleep, 

Let ne sleep 

My *Lif e away. 
I know that perhaps 
I could change the world, 
But I live for my sleep 
Each and every day. 
Keeping late hours, 
Propping up the bar, 
I feel spiritual 
Taking life away w/my car. 
Sooner or later 
I must pay once more,, 
For the good times 
And for being so bored. 

So let me sleep, 
let me sleep. 
Life will r-o on without my contribution 
Wake me*after the next revolution. 
I must look to the future, 
I must be rested 
To stay up through these 
Depressing days. 
With enough sleep 
I may change my ways . . . 



Charlotte Pennington 




I am a test-tube baby 

My mother was a slide 

My life was made significant 

— I never even tried* 

My mother's name was Pyrex 

My father's — Mr. Hyde 

My lun-s vere filled at first breath 

with the smell of formaldehyde. 

Dr. Jeckel was the scientist 
His work we all acclaim 
I'm jus^ a test-tube baby 
It's my only claim to fame! 














Shuffling over the rough terrain 
of the rug, the soldier is alert and 
ever-thinking as he scans his goal. 
Standing in front of a row of shelves 
he ponders his way to the top. After 
taking his rope out he makes a grest 
strike with it onto a bookend high a- 
bove. In complete guerrila fashion 
he- ascends the twine escalator to the 
second shelf. There, with nothing but 

a straight vertical climb facing him, 
he dons a quartet of suction cu-s and 
quickly straps them on. His spider-like 
movements are impeccable as he scales 
the wall toward his lof^y lestination. 
Once on the top shelf the suction cu^s 
go and the rifle appears. He stalks 
with great determination to the natter 
at hand. Approaching the blimp he is 
cau'iht off-Tuard as the booming of 



The Little Pinko, continued 

heavy footsteps send Iiii- scurrying past 
the stereo to his passe "e downward. The 
sprint is in vain as a massive, cal- 
-used hand snatches hin viciously. 

"Well, I'll he dannedl!" says the 
fat nan. "If it ain't a tiny man!" 

The soldier's grave attempt at 
e. cape is worthless as the clutches 
grow tighter around his body. Swing- 
ing through the air in the hand causes 
him to lose all direction as he is 
brought into another room. Voices 
pound his ears: "I don't believe it!" 
exclaims the fat man's friend. 

"Ain't he something! I caught him 
up on the shelves! Think he was — " 

"Don't you know what you're holding?" 
blurts the friend. "He's one of those 
s-o.ciol T-n Secret Projects that Russia's 
been working on!" 

"A ^hat?" as fc s the fat man. 

"Yes! Yes! He's one of the tiny 
people they're shooting ever. They pack 
them in these little capsules and send 
them over! It's called 'crawl-out.' The 
Feds have been on to it for awhile but 
none have actually turned up — at least 
none that I've heard of." 

"Crawl-out? Jesus, that's incredi- 
ble!" He holds the soldier up to his 
f;a.ce in total bewilderment. The tiny 
man amazes him. He trie g to squirm 
. free to no avail. 

"Is he human, though?! asks the 
fat man. 

"From what I heard, yes — well, at 
le"-st he is for the most part." 
/ "But how in the hell do—" 
/ "They've been doing research on 

/genetics for years. Lately they've tied 
their findings in with test-tube babies 
and stuff like that. T-'ey've come up 
with some astonishing discoveries," 
the f riend explained. "By isolating and 
manipulating the genes they can pro- 
duce any kind of person they want." 

"Well, I'll be damned," says the 
fat man, shaking his head as he watches 
the soldier's continued attempts at es- 

"You wouldn't belive what they can 
do to them," continued the friend. 
/'They control their brains, too. They 
don't even need to brainwash then. They 
just sort of 'program' the genes and 
they'll act however the commies want 
them to." 

"It's like goddamn human robots! 
Those bastard Communists! They're 
worse than I u " u liU " When you start 
to tamper with humans — well, that's 
going too far!" cries the fat nan, 
anger rising. The soldier is still now 
as the fat man's anger has tightened his 

"See," goes the friend, "you're 
squashing him up now, but that son-of- 
a-bitch is probably made to never give 
up or slow down or anything." 

"And what about 'capsules'?" 


"Right. They send them over in 
capsules. I think it's about 50 at a 

"But they're so small," says the 
fat man, staring at the tiny nan. 
"What the hell good are they?" 

"I guess they're spies. They 
can't be much good in the combat sense. 
This one was looking at the technolo- 
gy of your model Blimp, p r obablv. 
They 1 re after any information they can 
get. You know those damn Communists," 
-he said. 

"You're right about that!" yells 
the fat man, again beginning to fume. 
"And I hate 'em! They've gone too 
damn far!" As he yells, he shakes 
the soldi ~ r wildly. 

"Hey, easy! Let's bring him to 
our scienti s ts and see what they can do 
with him. Maybe they'll learn—" 

"The hell we will! This ain't 
ri^ht! This one dies!" His look is 
crazed as he storms out of the room. 

./"Where are you going? Come back 
with him!" 

"They've gone too far," he screams. 
"I don't like nosy Commies running 
around my house!" He h^ads down the 
basement stairs as his friend follows 

"What are you gonna do? I think 
you're going too far!" 

"I'm going as far as it takes to 
kill this — this — thing! TUis doesn't 
belong in this world! This is a freak- 
a freak of science!" 

"So what's your plan?" asks the 

"How 'bout a bar-b-que!! . I think 
I'll fry him right up." 

Standing at his work bench, he lo- 
cates thin wire in the bottom drawer. 
He takes it with his free hand an i 
hands it to his friend. "Here. Cut 
up some pieces to tie him up. with.' 

He holds the bug-eyed sol: 1 .! or to 
his face and blows directly at him. 

"Jesus. You'll kill him with your 
breath alone ! You and your damn garlic 

"Yea," laughs the fat man. "Look 
at his eyes water!" 

"Here you go," says the friend 
after cutting the wires. 

"Ok," says the fat man. "I'll 
hold him and you tie his arms and legs.' 

The fat man, while trying to move 
the soldier to the other hand, changes 
his grip. Preying on his only chance, 
the tiny Communist struggles away fron 
under the fingers and flops like a fish 
on land. ■. THe massive hands aro unable 
to mainta 1 n their hold as the s Idler 
drops to the bench. 

"Son of a 'i4ch!" screams f fat 
nan. "Get him!" Flaying forerv ia 
grab nothing but air as the min-ature 
connando skirts to the Without 
hesitation he leaps onto the ~u tv ce- 
nent floor, tumbling as he Brakes contac -1 


The Little Pinko, continued 


He sprints wildly along the wall board 
like a rat until a huge set of pliers 
crash into the wall in front of him. 

"Oohh!" grunts the fat nan. "I damn 
near got him there!" He heads for the 
soldier, who has switched 'direction. 
The movement of his legs is like that of 
a cartoon character. 

"Jesus, he's quick!" exclaims the 
fat man. 

"I'll get him here," says the 
friend as he grabs an old paint can. In 
a few fast leaps he nears the soldier 
and slams the empty can over him. A 
shower of dried paint casdadcs down on 

"Good job," says the fat man. "We 
nearly lost him there. Get some card- 
board." They slide a torn bear flat 
under the can, trapping the soldier. To- 
gether they carry the can to the woik 
bench, preparing each other for the next 
step. "Now be careful when you turn it 
over . " 

"Keep that cardboard on there 
tight." They execute the move expertly. 

"OK, pull her up," says the man with 
the massive, callused hand. "He can't 
climb out of here." 

As the cardboard is removed, the 
speckled-white soldier .jumps and jum"ns 
to reach the top. He cannot, but he 
keeps on trying. 

"Hey 'Uster Crawl-Out!" taunts 
^the fat man,. "Why aren't you crawl- 
in^ out now?" 

"I'll go get some thread," says his 
friend. "We can tie him easier with 
that." He exits. The fat man contin- 
ues to taunt the Communist. 

"Hey, you're all dirty, stupid I 
Want me to clean you?" He promptly 
spits at the sprawling soldier. The 
spit misses but the fat man goes on. 

"You're gonna be ;ri. shing that 
hit you — even if it does smell like 
garlic! You're gonna fry soon, Commie, 
just like my omelettes!" 

The friend returns and quickly cuts 
and ties three lassoes. 

"Here," he instructs, "one for each 
\hand and the other around his legs. 
Let me get him this time." He reaches 
in and firmly grabs the soldier, making 
sure the legs are straight so the bind- 
ing will be easy. 

''Hold still," says the fat man. 
"I'll get the legs." Unable to kick, 
the soldier is at last helpless as the 
black thread tightens around his combat 
boots. The hands, though, are harder 
to bind. The soldier stubbornly keeps 
his arms at his sides and holds them 
tliere tightly. The fat man's fingers 
poked and grabbed at the arms until he 
finally broke the grip. They quickly 
placed the string around the tiny wrist 
and tugged. After securing the other arm 
tie same way, they took more thread and 
bound the wrists together. 

"I'll finish him up," the fat 
man said, "You rret some sticks and 
leaves — and get my lighter too." His 
friend exits again as the fat man con- 
tinues the binding process, enjoying 
every minute of it. He sat the 
bound soldier on the bench and placed 
an old jar of screws a/rainst his back 
to make him sit up. Another thread 
is tied from the neck to the angles, 
making him sit ur> in an L-positi^n. 
He pulls the serew jar away t: s:-e his 
fin 1 shed worX 

"Well, aren't you sitting pretty! 
You'll have a nice seat on the- wall 
soon." His friend returns anA begins 
to build the fire along the wallboard. 
He adds dry leaves and twi^.s until a 
nice pile is standing. 

"Good, good," says the fat man. 
"Throw a little of that whiskey on 
there too." 

With the fire ready to go, the fat 
man pounds an aluminum nail into the 
wall above the fire. He ties the 
soldier's arm strings onto it. The 
soldier hanps against the wall. His 
legs are perpendicular to it as the 
fat man exalts. "We're all set! Gim- 
me the lighter." Taking it, he 
proudly proclaims, "Here's to the 
Russians," and lights the alcohol- 
soaked wood. The twigs catch fira rap- 
idly and risin" flames begin to lick 
away at th* bottom of the Communist's 
legs. His eyes bulge as he helplessly 

"Hey-hey! Look at hin go!" wails 
the- fat man triumphantly. "Take those 
American flames right where it hurts!" 

Gray, stinking, toxic smoke fills 
the air as his buttocks and legs burn 

"Wow," says the friend, "that 
smoke really stinks!" 

"Whaddaya expect? He's a damn 
stinking Russian!" 

The soldier continues to KPurn as 
toxic smoke fills the air. The charred 
and mangled remains drip off the wall 
into a pile of cooked humanity. 

"That ' s worse than your garlic ! 
That's terrible!" says the friend, eyes 
water in •. 

The fat nan's smile begins to 
fade while the soldier's torse skin 
curls and tiny major organs melt away. 
The men cough and gasp as they watch 
the flames do their work. Out of the 
corner of his eyes, the fat man sees 
his friend collapse to the ground. 
But he is unable to do anything as he 
himself blacks out and falls forward. 
His forehead smacks face down on the 
dusty cement floor and the massive, 
callused hand drops helplessly into 
the flames . . . 



Lynne M. Gloeckner 

John Q. Public 



He was just a 'blue-blanketed bundle when 
brought hin to me. A face of a china 
doll that squinted and winced and screwed 
itself up when introduced to the protruding 
rosebud of nourishment. 

Little pools of chocolate nelted my heart 
r ' 3 . I welcomed my first son into ny life. 
His soft hand carressed my body as my mind 
conjured up images of baseballs, toads and 
leather jackets. "A boy! Tough as nails 
and full of the devil." Isn't that what 
they say? 

Somehow the promise of manhood seems to be 
an unfathomable notion. My son nestles 
down and gives a silly grin as he burps 
with drunkenness while grasping my little 
finger for security. I try to envision the 
day when I will be looking up at him. May- 
be looking for the protect iveness whicb hi 
now enjoys. 

Perhaps it is these tender moments between 
a mother and her infant son that makes the 
bulking size of a grown man so virile. 






Thumb s -Up /Det erminat ion 



H '"ir /Headbands 

Lucky break 

Bar scnee 


Three piece suit /Record exec, 

Magic offer 

Pen= Signature 
Bigger guitar 
Louder amplification 
Pure 1 " noise 
Sport scar 

Beautiful groupies 
A Blonde /A mistake! 

No sale potential 

A new guitar star 
On the way. . . 

Marguerite Flanigan 


John Bertoletti 


Melody, harmony, rhythm 
Doth not m^sic make 

The inner soul must enter 
To make it soar 

The artist paints a mood 
X A picture, a feeling 

The r. -loiy is the basket he rides 
On his way to ecstacy 

The harmony is its roots 
Its foundation, its core 

The rhythm is its movement 
The tempo its clock 

The soul is within the artist 

Who translates the elements to bliss 



Why don't flowers bloom in my garden? 

Why do all my plants die? 

I give them all the water they need 

and all the sun from the sky 

but all my ro Ses wilt 

and all my daisies brown. 

They start up with a smile 

but always die a frown. 

I guess I'm not a garl'nir. 

My thumb just isn't green. 

The flowerbed is emnty 

the crop yield very lean. 

But I don't five un easy 

though the seasons have been hard. 

Someday I'm gonna cultivate 

a treasure in my yard. 

It's gonna be fantastic. 

A giant redwood tree 

najesti c , green, and tower feg 

for everyone to see. 

And when it ' s finally standing there 

I'll relish in its shade 

and give myself a pat on the back 

for the wonderful thinn: I've made. 


Jjfifi Tyrell 

• • 

Judy Belfield" 



Pick me up, put ne down. Hold ne though, 
hold ne. 

Take away my tiredness. Quell ny achey 

* -■■* ,f " # ' 

Enfold ne in your arns with a gentle hug. 

Push away the weariness. Remove thoughts 
of despair. 

p ^ 2 -- 3.elf-pity out of ny touch. 

Just hold on to ne some nore. 

rest ne there. 
Feet curled under blankets 
toes grazing your legs. 
.You pull away , 
*fron the cold ifchrun 
turn over and over. 


hide ne there 

in the warn irritation 

of wake-up . . . 

I'm afraid in this dark roon, 


Ton Madai 


I se*e 'thru ne-coloreJ glasses* 

As you will see for thee. 

Reality is perspective 

Built of our point ov view. 

I send forth ny ideals 

Which rr^le an open surface, 

Interpreted by your deeps. 

My perceptions of not-ne 

Affect ny thoughts of self, 

Even as I create. then | 

To work within ny realn. 

Your own concepts aally forth, 

And interact with nine; 

Yet no true perspective can 

Show then to be the sane. 

Only by nerving, retaining the carryover, 

Shall we semantic ally agree. 

Diversely different as snowf lakes, 

Definitely divine, we all 

Create reality, as forces of will combine. 

Anita Rutkowski 


* * 

A snore 

a snarl 

a "what now ,T — 

not a question. 

nothing . . . 
. j?ull up* the cqvers . „ . .. * 
and drown in your safe slee^ 
while ny eyes 
fight the night 
and dragons. 


Jody Wisnan 


Take ne into orbit with you 
Share oxygen between us two 
I wanna sail through a cloud 
To get away from this loud crowd 

Launch ne Mr. Moon Man 

I've got the space nan craze 

Let's ditch this nuclear age 

See the lovely "planets around 

How does kissing in space sound? 

To Venus or Mars 

Or one of thGse stars 

Launch ne Mr. Moon Man 

- ^, ■'*■ ■ - S 1? TV 7T 7P 7? 7T vT t - # - V* 

A cold tombstone, 

carved grs n ite lamb; 
the head is gone, 

inscriptions fade. 
A weathered picture 

crumbled and decayed; 
the babe's been at rest 

for a hundred years today. 



John Bertoletti 

Judy Belfield 



Swingin 1 on ny vine, 

listening to the beat. 

Groovin' to the jungle sound. 

Stayin' off ray feet. 

Keepin' cool beside a tree 

Sucking coca leaves. 

Tuning in to jungle jibe, 

Jannin' on ny reed. 

See the nonkeys on the branch 
x the parrots in the sky. 

Just can't get enough o& it 

That nellow jungle high. 

A flash of sunlight on ny face, 

it's life without a care. 

The jungle sound ^ces sliding by, 

the breeze blows through ny hair. 

Mellow is the nusic, yea, 

inside ny jungle hut. 

Nothing beats the buzz of 

cool, femented coconut. 
"And the gentle waves nove through ne, 

They make ne so alive 

Just livin' life the laid-back way 

to easy jungle jibe. 


Anita Rutkowski 


Answer ny questions, 

straightforward, if you please. 
Relieve ne of all doubt, 

set ny nind at ease. 
Rub out ny queries, 

don't make light just a tease. 
Quickly expunge 

Dr obfuscation will seize. 


All Caesar ' s legions 
trampled on our dust 
building the roads over us 
so that we, too, ni*ht know the way to 

Rone . 

We did not follow their sandaled feet 

to the Forun 

but stayed to dance 

on a flat fresco 

of burnt red and dark-sun pignents 

in a cool, silent tonb. 


Judy Belfield 


Roons attached 

to labyrinthine corridors 

attached like aphids to rose stens 

as though the bloodstream halls 

nourish its parasitic cubicles 

and within the roons 

yet other parasites — 

hunan leeches 

stuck to beds 

like suckers on a shark. , 

These, the least of brethren, 

in varying states of decay 

holding on for life 

to silversleek starkwhite narvels 

wheeling quietly 

through the corridors 

of phlegn and lost fluids 

flushed into oblivion 

until one day a door opens 

into sunlight and the grave. 



I take you 
on. a sailboat 
drifting on waters 
of crys i<al blue 

ff islands 
with pure white 
sandy beaches 
in the warnth 
of an endless sun 
no sound 
except the surf 
and the soft caress 
of the sea breeze 
aJ r fresh and clean 

beneath skies 
of purest blue 
watching the fluffy 
white clouds 
nove slowly oast 
as the boat 
gently rocks 
to the H llaby 
of the sea 

seems nonexistent 
a foreign thought 

that does not apply 
as in a dream 
I carry you away 



Jo Anne Kaseno 

Judy Bel field 



Loud music from the speakers. 
into a world of colors and 
visions and 
love and 

■ A sweet taste in my mouth. 

I can smell 


the dark brown 


of his hair 



the deep tones 

of his voice. 

Hot "breath 

of the walls 


«*• on my back. 








Tom Madai 



you and ne 

shot through with silver glitterdust — 

like nymphs in the wood 

hand to hand 

dancing over ferngrass 

toward orange skyribbons 

in a distant blue . . . 

you and me 

riddled with years of each other — 

like canyon and river 

the etching of our lives • 

in rockstrata 

traveling down and down 

to the center . . . 

you and me closed over by time — 

like serfs 

overwhelmed by the lord 

forgotten under snow 

in plowed- over crusty earth 

the harvest long- since belched forth 

and swallowed by hungry yesterdays. . . 





■ ■ ■ 




Peggy Martino 









It puzzled us all at the start of the scheme 
Things as they are, are not as they seem. 
Catch the tune of the infinite beat; 
Follow it closely while moving your feet. 

Humanity reaches across the Universe 

And yet 

The Universe is forever 

reaching for Humanity 




MTote the music inside your head — 
Listen for l"ng and you'll not know you're dead. 
Dance as you listen and start to sway; 
Grope toward the light as they take you away. 

You sit in your cell as the tune goes around; 
Caught in its motion, you'll n^er be found. 
Look In your whirlpool for traces of self, 
Not even noting you were dumped on the shelf. 

Check at the center for the presence of OM — - 
I'aybe at last you've found your true home. 
Move to the center to merge with the calm; 
Successful arrival protects you from harm. 

Marguerite Flanigan 


If the sky was made blue 

It ' s God ! s favorite hue 
And the grass had His choice 

OF the color of green 
He selected a yellow 

For sun to be bright 
So that all of the world 

Could be seen in the light 

With the brown of the earth 
And the black of the trees 

Then the flowers were made 
With a violet .shade 

Mixed with gold red and pink 
And a lavender too 

Navigate the hazards on your way to the node; 

follow instructions and do as you're told. 

Your destination is coming up soon — 

Exclaim with surprise that you're back in the womb! All a rainbow of blends 

Touched with silver of dew. 
Abandon your body — mu c h is at stake; 
Control of your new one you shortly must take. 
Wipe clean the slate with extremely great skill — 
Prepare for the new life you'll certainly feel. 





Lynne M. Gloeckner 

Sue Sturgeon 



My mind pours over ny past like a musty 
prospector panning for gold. It dra-Ts 
over every memorable detail in search 
of a shiny moment which night promise a 
noteworthy reward. 

Th^ strean is k n ee deep. For ny tides 
have hit the shores for many seasons. 
The water is murky and one must be a pa- 
tient sifter to prospect in these nuddy 
waters. Many pebbles have been formed 
in ny strean with the passing of tine. 

A lifetine of renenbrances await the 
silver nan's disturbance of their set 
ways. With each dip, ny mind gently awa- 
kens the rocking horse that was in ny nur- See the Mississippi drain 

Eating red beans and rice on Monday •" 
Drink a Dixie with a drunk 
Pinch a tail. Suck a head 
Eat lots of ^rench pastries 

Ride in horse drawn coaches 

Party at Loyola and Tulane 

Head down the French Quarter way 

See 25<£ peer> shows on Bourbon Street 

Catching beads on Fat Tuesday 
This port is no place for a nonk 
See a shotgun shed 
.Snell the nagnolia trees 

Amazed by them k inch roaches? 

sery, snells of Grandma's spice cookies, 
and the feel of Daddy's lap when I was a 
tot. This is the wealth that lies in my 
brook . 

Wading into shallow waters, I find gens 
that have not yet been refined by the cur- 
rents. The jagged memory of a first love, 
the loss of a loved one to death, and other 
recent adult memories have not had the ad- 
vantage of the tides of tine. They have 
not lost their jaggedness and rough spots 
are painful to the sensitive mind. 

Sone of ny precious metals are subnerged 
deep in the sands and nust be dug up. 
While others are sitting gently upon the 
sand. They catch the glistening light 
like the speckled salmon. Unlike the 
prospector, ny nind has no need to trade 
ray gems in for their ncnetary value. It 
just holds then up to shine in the sun; to 
toss them gently back into the waters 
to be panned again another day. 


Driving across the swamry causewav 
listening to the Cajun beat. 


Shelbia Chandler 


Your teenage daughter 
Just beginning to bloom 
Will grow a fine lady 
If you just give her room. 

Give her your love 
And your complete trust 
She nay get hurt 
But everyone must. 


If you let her run her own life 
She might get "horned, 
But if you try and run it for her' 
She'll never really learn. 

Anita Rutkowski 


Kiss me, kiss me, I love you, 
And I know you love me too. 


Hold me, hold me, tighter please, 
I like being your riain squeeze. 

Touch me, touch me . . . ecstasy, 
nev2r cease to fondle me. 

Fricki, fricki, oh so fine, 
need I Tive another line? 

/ ******** 


Experience is the best teacher 
But give her advice 
And when she ' s 


She knows you love her 
You've already let her know- 
Now just stand back 
\id let her grow. 



John Q. Public 

Charlotte Pennington 



Eyes glimmering w/sin 
Waiting for our connection, 

Our pass in. 
Anticipating nothing, but "wishing for bli 
Gliding past false bright sniles, 

Silk and pre-fomed hair. 
Teenage depression journeys on. 
Death ganes played w/no awareness, 
Can' freedom be* found *own thes'e 
Barren alleys of oblivion we roan? 

Glasses in their hands. 

Glares in their eyes. 
Music nasks the underlying meaning 

Of existence at this place and time. 
Reaching deep within one's soul, 
Pleading w/others for approval. 

Tine glides — 

Sexual plots thicken, 
B$th he and she acting out, 
A role of self -inflated ego 
M-aning and confusion 


How can you do that? 
Doesn't it destroy your mind? 
How can you stand the thought 
ss of killing your rnto kind? 

Dump the bodies into plastic bags 
Infested renains wrapped in old dishrags 
Snash a corpse with rifle butts, 
JDestroy ^ts rotting flesh and guts. 
Tears roll from its cringing eyes 
for it will never greet 
another stinking sunrise 
or smell garbage in the street! 

Flying high in your aircraft 
Dropping bombs on little kids 
you murdering bastards 
don't care what you did. 



Tom Madai 





Ritual and magic have played impor- 
tant roles in daily life since the incep- 
tion of culture. Costume has played a 
crucial part in the actions which brought 
desired elements of the supernatural under 
man's control. 

. A particular case, of ,this, significance 
was the choice of clothing hunters donned 
\in preparation for the hunt. Brightly 
colored beads, feathers and artistic daubs 
j6t paint comprised a pattern which attract 55 
/ ed game and protected the wearer from harm. 
Women, too, dressed in suitable costume 
and chanted while dancing or gesticulating. 
Success in the hunt brought feasting and 
ceremonial dances in gratitude to the mys- 
terious forces of nature. 

As time passed, cultural values became 
more complicated and the forces were 
anthroponorphised — the gods were born! 
To appease this group of newborns, select 
•members of the village grouped together 
to make sense of the gods' capricious be- 
havior. Thus was born the clergy (and, 
possibly, politicians). 

Gradually, as one generation gave way 
to the next, some of the mystery was taken 
from the "forces," and the clergy found 
themselves losing power. Another concur- 
rent trend was the reduced need for many 
hunters ranging over large territories due 
to the advent of agriculture. This state 
of affairs gave certain individuals a bit 
of spare time; to counteract their bore- 
dom, various hunters became competitive 
amongst themselves. Since thesa contests 
often led to death or crippling due to the 
extreme violence involved, the village 
priests met to discuss the situation. 

From that meeting evolved a way to 


greatly increase their ^ower while si- 
multaneously ridding the tribe of its 
undesirable elements. First, the cler- 
gy designated the most aggressive group 
of hunters to be members of a special 
class whose purpose was the defense of 
the village from* outside attack. As ^ 
symbols of this newly-conferred status, 
a special costume was created. 

The^ next step was to give the new 
class a name — our equivalent of 'warrior' 
Since a neighboring; village was sited 
near a rich game trail, the clergey de- 
cided to try to gain possession of it for 

Accordingly, a special holy cere- 
mony was held, during which the warriors 
were given a message direct from the 
gods (a priest pretending to be in a 
trance j possessed) to attack the village 
and take command. The feast lasted 
long into the night. 

At dawn, the band of eager hunters 
began their trek, brimming over with the 
god- 'iven directive to claim what was 
rightfully theirs. When they arrived 
at the enemy village, they attacked. 
Screaming in unison, the soldiers effect- 
ively destroyed the village. The surviv- 
ing inhabitants were brought back to 
serve as slaves and gradually merged vith 
the other group. 

Thousands of years passed, with 
the warrior and clergy becoming ov-=r more 
power ful'v'' Cities- grew, the gods were 
merged, and once again a group of peo- 
ple formed with some spare time. This 
was happening in several city-states at 
once, so an inter-city festival was held 
to discuss the situation. From 

(continu: 3.) 


The Hunter /Priestess Through The Ages, continued. 

observing the activities of the group in 
question, the i^sa of formalizing their : 
ganes into a quasi-professional league 
was expressed and acted upon. Thus was 
born sport. 

Centuries passed, during which ath- 
letes became more sophisticated, formal- 
izing the rules, regulations and ethics 
-, of sport. Through the superficial chang- 
es, however, there still glimmered their 

Coming into the late nineteenth an."- 
twentieth centuries, women began rto find 
ways of expressing themselves within the 
context of the arena; they, became 
cheerleaders ! Thus the degeneration of 
warrior /priest into athlete and t v e 
priestess into cheerleader has bei... 

The cheers used are analogous to the 
spells and prayers chanted in support of 
the hunters/team, while their uniforms 

origins as hunter-warriors. An imageX 
of masculinity evolved which idealized phy- and routines correspond to the costume 
sical qualities and stoicism while rele- and lance elements of ritual. 
gating the other traits to women. 




Judy Bel field 


John Q. Public 

. ■ 


This aint no poem. 

Aint no fancy words in my head 

so there sure aint gonna be none on this paper 

Looks like a poem, though — 
that's cause people 're perdictable, 
see things that aint really there. 
So . . . this might look like something 
you think you reckanize 
but it aint what you think... 
Worry about that. 
This aint no monolog neither — 
I aint no Johnny Carson 
J5.n I aint got no golf club 
/an I aint gonna say how cold was it.. 

You have seen ambers 
The clues, the ^ath 

To uncover your destiny 
But what is the sum of one alone 
Who are you without someone 
Do you want something— you know ycr 
Will you ask — I think not 
Gazo into the sun, trigger on your 
You're the only ,one that matters 
To you- ... 

■ ■ ■ e-j - ' - 'i 

■*un . 


So what is this? 

It sure aint for eyes to read 

p.or ears to hear. 

Mebbe there's something sneakin through the 

some secret somethin slitherin like a sn — 

Nope ! 

I aint . gonna say it , 

cause you was expectin it — 

an one thing I learned early on • 

before I could read an write 

was things aint never what we think. 

An even when they are 

it's only cause we think th e;,r are . . . 

cause we see things 

that aint really there. 

So . . . what is this? 
Well, it aint no poem. 
An .1 could say too 
that it aint no chicken 
an it aint no tractor. 
I could say lotsa aints 
but T aint gonna . . . 

words , 

John Bertoletti 


Don't know why I. get my hopes uj . 

It only makes it worse. 

The depression of my silent phone 

makes me break out in verse. 

I write my painful feelings, 

My hurt appears in ink. 

It takes the worry off my chest 

and makes my problems shrink. 

Robert Costello 



Titus, a two-headed reptil 1 ar. beh — 
moth, lived with his Mo r - and Dad i i the 
middle of Murphy's Marsh on the e-:\::t 
edge of Whoopdoop County. 

Though his family and friends show- 
ered him with love and smothered him wit : 
affection, Titus was not happy. !2hifl war 



Titus The Titanic, continued 

mostly due to one simple, unhappy truth. 
Everybody he knew or had ever heard of 
was a regular, one-headed, reptilian be- 
hemoth. Not an unregular, two-headed, rep- 
tilian behemoth, like himself. 

"Look on the brighter side," his 
Mother was fond of suggesting. "Every- 
thing always works out just fine. Be 
happy," she told him. 

It was true, he subbosed. He had 
never met anyone other than himself who 
could sing a melody and a harmony at the 
same time while in the shower. (Or out of 
the shower, for that matter) Or accom- 
pany a vocal rendition of 'The Rocky 
Road To Dublin' simultaneously on cornet. 
Also, he could execute his favorite con- 
certo; one of the ones in D Major for 
guitar and viola ... or any one of a num- 
ber of pieces written for two mandolins — 
even when he was home alone. 

Nonetheless, as soon as Titus would 
cheer his [sagging spirits with the 
thought of some advantageous aspect of 
possessing a second head, he would be 
reminded of some unpleasantness he had 
to endure. 

He spent twice the usual tine with 
his dental hygienist. "Titus," she 
would say, "you are, without question, the 
finest first base umpire in Whoopdoop." 
Titus would manage a small smile. He 
realized she meant well. "You never S uf= 
fer stiffness after watching the tennis 
championships," She would go on like that, 
trying to help him. "Look on the brighter 
side," she Would say. 

Alas, Titus spent much of his time 
dreaming an impossible dream. He dreamed 
that: a}one of his heads would fall, 
"\ or b) a substantial percentage of the 
population would sprout a second head. 

Oh how miserable Titus felt. He 
longed to be something he was not. 

Sometimes, when he thought of one of 
his heads falling off, he would argue 
loudly with himself about which head 
should go. Once, an argument got so out 
of hand, Titus had to be resuscitated 
x after he throttled himself unconscious. 

Another time, a well-meaning Uncle 
br-oRght TitHs a magazine article that 
^old about a scientist who could help 
/ troubled beasties. "Maybe he can hero ■ 
you Titus," said the well-meaning uncle. 

_The scientist had ointments and 
elix^-rs for Titus to use. The scientist 
had a machine for Titus to sit inside. 
The machine changed Titus into a different 
creature every time he got inside. 
But it would not turn Titus into a reg- 
ular, one-headed, reptilian behemoth. 
Once, Titus emerged from the contraption 
with only one head. Unfortunately, it 
was attached to two bodies . That was the 
last straw. No more scientists. Titus 
demanded his money back and went home. 

After awhile, Titus decided he 
would become an explorer. He felt he was 

wasting his time. "I'm tired of wast- 
ing my days and nights sitting in front 
of the TV," he announced to hiiriself 
"Yes. It seems as though I am forever 
drinking Kool-Ade and eating tortilla 
crisps. I'm going to become an ex- 
plorer," he added. 

Titus was very pleased with himself. 
"I'll wear a uniform!" he said tc him- 
self. "Ri^ht. No more arguments over 
coVboy hats an3* sneakers , baseboll caps - 
or boots," he added gleefully. "My life 
will have purpose and direction," he 
mused. "I'm so ha-py," he adlo-d. 

"I will have to agree with rryself , 
in order to get the job done. Perhaps 
I'll meet aliens as strange as me. May- 
be stranger," he added. 

"Gadzooks!" he exclaimed as he 
looked himself square in the eyes. 
"I'm agreeing with myself already !" 
With that he ran happily off, hugging 
and kissing himself, and chatter in~ two 
miles a minute. 

So Titus got on a spaceship and 
blasted off to a life of adventure and 
exploration. He travelled hither and 
yon. He soon forgot he had ever felt 
sad or lonesome or unfulfilled. Pie 
became quite famous, and was usually at 
home only for seasonal holidays or im- 
portant family hooplas. Or to receive 
an award. It was on just such an occa- 
sion his Mom handed Titus a letter that 
had arrived for him months earlier. 

Titus read the letter. (He was 
used to fan mail by now) The letter 
snaelled like lilacs, a favorite with 
Titus , and was from some sweet young 
reptilian behemoth on the other side of 
Whoopdoop. Well, Titus thought, she 
sounds real nice. It's obvious she 
paid close attention in school. Her 
penmanship alone is evidence to that. 
Oh, but just wait until she finis "ut 
I've got two heads. Ha! She won't know 
which fac e to laugh in first. Then Titus 
noticed something' else. A picture was 
peeking out of the envelope. Golly, 
she sure is purty, thought Titus as he 
pulled the picture out for a better 
look. Titus could not belive his four 
eyeballs! Not just another pretty face. 
No sir~ee Bob ! Bubbling borscht buck- 
ets if it wasn't TWO pretty faces! She 
was a girlie two-headed reptilian behe- 

Titus charged into the house, 
scooped up his Mom and Dad and be.-en 
dancing around the room with the two of 
then, jumping and hollering, kissing ther 
both at the same time. "Call the preach- 
er, I'm in love! I'm going to the .'other 
side of Whoopdoop to collect the girl 
of my dreams*" Then he was gone like a 
shot. Catching -their .breath, hie bewild- 
ered parents saw the picture fl -ting 
to the floor amid the whirlwind left 
in the wake of their jubilant child. 





Titus The Titanic, continual 

They smiled, they kissed, they told that happiness would cone to her baby, 
one another how happy they were for each She remembered how she whispered to 
other and for their Titus. Baby Titus over and over again as she 

Titus's Mom got dreany-eyed and remen- rocked him in her loving arms: "B 't 
bered long, long ago, when Titus was a worry little darling, everything alvays 
tiny baby. How she had prayed and prayed works out just fine. Always." 


Peggy Martino 

Jody Wisman 




Of time we see our present 
Filtering through a glass to the past 
But from there where do we gol 
Are we just destined to be turned endless- 

God cuts the pattern pieces and places 
them in our hands. His wisdom an^. 
grace helps us select the material. It 
is up to us to do the basting, fitting, 
and to try to sew good, strong, straight 

Our sands to be forever mixing and mingling? seams. We apply the finishing t?uches 

It almost seemes inevit" 1 ^'-*-'-- 

Our sands get mixed and forget their 

\ They don't realize all that's happened, 
during their churning experiences. 
They can only see the present 
N and from experience, see what their future 
\ destination is to be. 

They forget their past— 

The knowledge of it happening is with them; 
but does it really inhabit their memories? 
All the affection they've felt is gone; 
but does the remembrance still linger on? 
Then one day their emotions take hold 
All their feelings cone into view. 
Some even hand out their feelings. 
Others get involved with our sands. 
Some may question us; 
Some nay ask us to question ourselves. 
But none are corrupt —unless we let then. 
If our sands take the endless turning in 

•and allow feelings to freely flow in and out, 
and don't allow the forever churning to 

.^et in their wav — 
You glass will always be there. 
It will serve as protector, shield and 

but will it not stair 1 , in the_vay if the 

s and ' s expan s i on ? 
On che other hanl — 
If your sands have a problem accepting the 

endless turning, 
and can't allow feelings to flow the 

least bit freely, 
and their forever churning becomes an 

obstacle — 
tour glass will always be there. 
It will serve as opponent , deceiver and 
/ foe. 

and hold up the completed garment for 
God ' s approval . 

The world will judge quickly what they 
see with the naked eye, but only God 
knows what our darts and tucks conceal 
and how many seams have been ripped 
apart to be resewn. May we ask a bless- 
ing for those who never got past the 

basting stage, but only their pattern 
pieces remain to acknowledge the world 
that they were here. 

The material is the quality of our pa- 
rents. The basti.ig is our environment 
and childhood. The fitting is our 
puberty and experiences of adjust 'ag to 
life. The seams are our decisions and 
deeds in adulthood. The finishing 
touches are righted wrongs with God's 

good grace. 


John Bettoletti 


I want my Ju^ie for Christmas. 
There's nothing I want more. 
Having her back in my life again 
Would make my spirits soar. 

Cause I'm really lonely without her. 
And lately I've been pretty down. 
I'd really enjoy this Christmas time 
If I could just have her around. 

So c'mon, Santa, please have a heart — 
After all, it's the time of good will!! 
Tell me you'll bring me my Julie back! 
Please, Santa, please say you will! 


y\ An obstacle, will be the glass, 

'that will take pain and time to cut through. This isn't some brainstorm out of the 

At the end of the hour, the sands, blue. 

the last lingering ones, I've wished it for quite some time. 

trickle slwoly, patiently, tranquil Baby-dolls aren't reserved for the kids! 

to their destination. Please won't you bring ne back mi^e.'! 

Than at some time, somewhere, 

the glass is again turned and the sands aflaixi ******** 

be^in their rotation for on " t 'i- r hour. 



Shelbia Chandler 

John Bertoletti 



Baby, look into my eyes 

And maybe then you'll realize 

That there'll never be another place or 

Where you'll find a love so true as n^ne, 
I know I'm young, "but not so naive 
What I'm saying you must believe 
Age is only a state of mind 
And years from now you will find 
That my love remains constant and true 
My heart will always belong to you. 


Joanne Kaseno 

There's this dude 
And one day 
He walks in his house . 

Everybody's all 
Shook up 

He sees his 
3est frined 

Walks up to him r 

And asks 
What's wrong. 
But he just 
Keeps crying 

Doesn't answer 

This dude 
Figures he's too 
Busted up 
To talk about it 

He sits down 
And waits 
)?br someone 
To tell him 
What ' s 

After awhile 
His grandmother 
Comes up 

On the shoulder. 
He looks 
And says, 
"What are you doing here Grandmother? 

You're dead." 
"So are you," she tells "him. 


Remember — 
How we were a sky? 
How we loved the stars 
And the moon so high? 

When — 
We were a love song? 
A beautiful hymn, with 
Romantic lines and ohrases within? 

were together as one? 
A carefree part full of 
laughter and fun? 

We not sunshine? 
were we not love, that lived 
under colors of rainbows above? 

Together — 
To live, to love, to be free,- 
When I had you and you had me, 
To enjoy each other forever and over. 
Do you remember when we were together? 


Jody Wisman 


Oh my restless lover 
Whispering softly in my ear 
Wandering mind so far away 
What is it that you fear? 

Restless breath upon my lips 
Keep stirring me inside 
Restless hands caressing me 
What have they ?.~ne to hide? 

Oh my restless lover 

You'll leavs me s^~n I know 

So pack my heart and soul once more 

Just take my love and go 

Oh my restless lover 

Search this world I pray 

And when you find your peace of mind 

Come back to me and stay 


Sue Sturgeon 


We came into the world in unison, 

an accident in nature. 
We communicate, but we don't 

us: words. 
Everyday of my life has been 

spent looking into a mirror. 
I can't imagine my life 

without you, my shadow. 



JoAnne Kaseno 


Walk with ne 

into the cool night 

where the nusic 

always plays and 

the nind 

journeys through light & vision & 

the "beginnings of creation. 

You and I are the soul of the past 

You are the inage 


I an the thought. 

We fall deeper & deeper — 
ninds locked. 

If only we could touch. 

Len Overcash 


When two are one and one 
is two 

Whan silence 
is understanding 

When distance 
is close 

When physical ■ 
1S spiritual 

Whan love 
is weakness 

When weakness 
is strength 

When solitude 
is shared 

When separate 
is united 

When two are one 


Marguerite Flanigan 


Plello happiness! Where are you? 
Junp down here and stay awhile. 

Forget vhire I live? 
Can't find ny address? 

Take off your shoes. 
Relax and recline. 
Find a spot for your coat. 
Park for a while. 

It's tine for sone joy. 
You'll find me hone. 

Hello Happiness ! Where are you? 
Jurrp down here and stay awhile. 



John Bertoletti 


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